


The Cat that Got the Cream

by theorchardofbones



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Worship, Consensual Kink, Especially Ignis, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lactation, Lactation Kink, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Postpartum Intimacy, Vaginal Sex, classy smut, seriously everybody's having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:29:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: In the weeks and months after Aranea endures the miracle that is childbirth, Ignis tries to help in any way he can. With his wife's breasts sore and swollen, filled with milk that's not going to any use, he's more than happy to indulge an unexpected appetite.(Explicit smut with lactation kink and a mild dose of body worship for good measure.)





	The Cat that Got the Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/gifts).



> Ohhhhh gosh. Okay. So first of all, it's 5am and I can't sleep, so please accept my apology if this is still somehow riddled with typos.
> 
> Is this my first _actual_ HighSpecs fic? Hm, guess so.
> 
> I had _a lot_ of fun writing this, so hopefully you'll enjoy reading! Totally written as a gift for a very good friend. Started out as a joke but... well, maybe I don't dislike this kink as much as I thought I would ;D
> 
> Yes, I named their daughter Freya. In-universe it's a tribute to Luna; ex-universe it's a reference to the dragoon from FFIX.
> 
> Also I'm sorry about the shameless title, but I couldn't resist.

Aranea was dozing when Ignis made his way on tiptoe through the house, down to their living room. She stirred when he set the monitor carefully on the coffee table and moved to where she sat on the couch.

‘She’s down,’ he murmured, after Aranea had fully roused herself from sleep. ‘All it took was a warm bottle and a good burping.’

Aranea gave a sleepy snort and looked at him disbelievingly through heavy-lidded eyes.

‘It won’t last,’ she said. ‘If she’s anything like I was.’

She moved to make room for him, but of course he wasn’t having any of it. He was more than happy to perch himself on the arm of the couch by her side and let her rest her head against his hip.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, tenderly stroking her hair.

Another snort from her, and it amazed him that after nine months of pregnancy and eight hours of labour, she could still be her usual sharp-witted self.

‘I’m hungry,’ she said, ‘but even thinking about eating makes me nauseous. I’m exhausted, but I’m too uncomfortable to sleep. My skin is breaking out. My ankles are fat. I pushed an entire human being out of my vagina not all that long ago and I’ve got the stitches to prove it. So yeah, I’m doin’ peachy.’

He gave a long, labouring sigh and leaned close to press a kiss to the top of her head.

‘Well,’ he said gently. ‘You gave life to our daughter two weeks ago, and quite frankly I’m still in awe. You may not feel like it, but in my eyes you’re a goddess.’

He felt her hair brush his cheek as she twisted to look up at him. He expected there to be some sort of sardonic sneer on her lips, but there was none.

‘You always know just the right things to say,’ she said. ‘I’m starting to think I like you.’

It was his turn to scoff, and when she leaned up towards him he slipped his arms around her, pulling her into a kiss.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ he asked gently. ‘Anything at all?’

She sighed and slumped back into her seat, plucking distastefully at the white fabric of her blouse. Even from where he sat he could see that it was soaked through with milk.

‘I’ll get the pump,’ he said, promptly standing. ‘Although I _do_ wish you’d consider nursing her, at least until the mastitis clears up.’

He found the bag of things — the bottles, the pump, the breast pads — and took what he needed from it, bringing it through to sterilise it in the kitchen.

‘No way,’ she said, her drawl drifting through the open doorway. ‘I’m not going through weaning in six months when she’s gotten used to it. Last thing I need is a baby hanging off of me when I’m trying to go back to work.’

He sighed, shaking his head to himself as he moved about getting everything ready. He knew she had a point, of course, and they had talked long and hard about the perceived merits of breastfeeding before Freya had even been conceived. The decision they came to had been one they were both on board with, although he still couldn’t help thinking she was being pointedly stubborn.

He was surprised, when he returned to Aranea’s side and she unbuttoned the front of her blouse, that her breasts were heavy and swollen, painfully red.

He dropped into the seat beside her, pressing the pump into her hands. With a sympathetic glance he leaned forwards and touched a gentle hand to the top of her breast. It was hot to the touch — alarmingly so — and again he felt that recurring knot of guilt that she should have to go through all of this.

There was no shame between them, not when he had been there to catch Freya in the delivery room; not when he had seen Aranea screaming in agony, her normally composed face red and dripping in sweat. He didn’t mind at all that she needed help navigating her breasts into the cups of the pump, nor was he embarrassed by the milk that spilled down her skin as he did so.

‘There, now,’ he said sweetly, stroking her hair out of her face. ‘That’s better.’

He stroked his free hand in gentle circles over her breasts, as the nurse had shown them — the better to stimulate the letdown reflex — and he watched the discomfort steadily drain from her face as an expression of relief took over.

There was no pleasure in this for either of them; that wasn’t the point. He was only too glad to help in any way that he could.

<hr>

It had started quite innocently, really. A late night, both of them kept awake by feedings; Aranea’s breasts had continued to leak, long after Freya had had her fill.

When Ignis had moved to get the pump, Aranea had put out a hand to stop him.

‘Leave it,’ she had said. ‘I’m starting to feel like cattle.’

So he had grabbed the breast pads instead, and had pressed them to her chest; had smoothed his hands over her skin as had come to be second nature for him.

She had always had more than ample of bosom, even before pregnancy had changed her body. Now, all he could see was the myriad ways motherhood had reshaped and molded her, into something even more beautiful and precious than before. The angry heat of the mastitis was gone, at least, but her breasts were still more than a handful each. He had never considered himself a man to be swayed by such things, but there was something endlessly enchanting about seeing his wife’s body in the mother’s aspect, the picture of fertility.

‘What would I do without you?’ she asked listlessly, her eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord.

‘You’ll never have to find out,’ he had replied, kissing her forehead. ‘Rest now, my love.’

<hr>

At six weeks postpartum, the gynecologist had given them the all-clear; when they had even discussed the topic of sex it devolved into laughter about how neither of them felt particularly ready.

It took them both by surprise, really — only days after their appointment, with Freya away in her grandparents’ care, the stars seemed to align.

Aranea had wanted to be on top; childbirth had left her self-conscious, and she wanted to do things on her own terms. He hadn’t complained.

With pillows propping him back against the headboard, his legs bent slightly, he had pulled her into his lap. She had glided onto the length of him far more easily and readily than he ever would have expected, and that wet, slick feeling in his lap almost drove him over the edge.

‘Tell me if it hurts,’ he had told her, looking seriously into her eyes. ‘We can stop whenever you like.’

Neither of them had been anticipating it — the sheer joy of being united again, skin on skin. He had felt her tense around him, and when he had looked down at her body writhing as she thrust again and again onto him, there had been rivulets of milky white trickling down her breasts, down her stomach, pooling onto her thighs.

When he had picked up one of her breasts, heavy and full, and lifted it to his mouth, she hadn’t stopped him.

<hr>

He watched her chest rise and fall beneath the thin cotton of her nightgown as he lay with his chin propped on his hand. Freya was gone for the night, as had come to be an almost weekly tradition, but they had both been content to take this opportunity to catch up on sleep.

She cracked open an eye to look at him.

‘What are you thinking about?’

‘I’m thinking about how wonderful it is,’ he said, ‘that the human body could be built to go through the trauma of childbirth and yet emerge stronger than ever.’

‘I wouldn’t say _stronger_ ,’ she replied dryly. ‘You’ve seen me struggling with the groceries, right?’

He chuckled softly and leaned over, a hand resting protectively over her stomach.

‘You’ve been through so much, my love,’ he said. ‘Be patient with yourself.’

She lifted her hand to cup his jaw, tugging him down into a kiss that was gentle at first, then more demanding. It seemed their plans of taking this time to recuperate were at an end.

Her tongue was urgent as it coaxed its way into his mouth, and he felt a low groan issue from his throat entirely unbeckoned. Already there was a tightness in the constraints of his briefs, the first stirrings of arousal that Aranea could bring about simply by being so close.

The kiss deepened, enduring. He felt her hand move to his thigh, ghosting over the ridge of him beneath his sweats; that mere touch had blood surging down between his legs until he was unmistakably hard.

Her other hand slipped down, clasping his wrist and nudging it; she guided him down between her thighs, and when he worked his way beneath the hem of her dress, the fabric of her panties was already damp.

 _‘Oh,’_ he gasped against her lips. It was still always something of a novelty that she could get so _excited_ over him.

She shifted, pulling herself upright; pushed more eagerly into the kiss. Her hand stroked deeply into his cock, and while it wasn’t rough it was certainly forceful enough that it had him moaning.

They separated only long enough to attend to the layers of their clothes. While in the fledgling phases of their relationship they had taken as much pleasure in undressing each other as in the act itself, their movements were almost perfunctory now: tedious steps to be taken before their bodies could be joined again.

Ignis couldn’t wait long enough; he was still in his t-shirt and Aranea only just out of her underwear, the buttons of her nightdress barely halfway undone, when he nudged her once more onto her back and sidled between her legs.

‘You are so breathtaking,’ he murmured, stroking his thumb down her cheek. ‘Five years and I’m still not over it.’

Was it bashfulness that made her turn her face away? Shyness, in the flush of her cheeks and the sultry little smile?

He didn’t pause to find out. He leaned close, mouthing kisses along flesh that was exposed as her nightdress fellow loose about her; slipped his hand down, tracing up the soft skin of her thigh until his fingertips hit wetness.

As he mouthed downwards, over her collarbone, he felt that delightful wetness trickle only more abundantly over his fingers. By the time his lips had found her breast, she was writhing beneath him, slick and ready.

The first droplet of creamy, warm milk hit his tongue and sent a throb of arousal through him. When she cupped her breast, massaging it gently until more leaked out, he greedily closed his lips around her areola, flitting his tongue over the pert peak of her nipple, until a more steady stream spilled out.

He slipped his fingers within her, and she moaned so wonderfully, _so beautifully._ His thumb tracked up, finding her clitoris, and he gave slow steady strokes as he worked his fingers in and out of her. The milk only seemed to pool on his tongue more readily in response.

‘Feels so good,’ she breathed, throwing her head back on the pillows.

She was the picture of bliss, her silver hair spilling out on in waves around her. Where her face was untroubled in pleasure, when he sat astride her thigh and moved his other hand to her other breast, twisting her nipple in his grasp, he could see her expression contort to one of ecstasy.

It was more than a little satisfying to feel the spray of warmth flood over his fingertips where he pinched; even more so when his ministrations prompted her letdown, and milk gushed into his mouth and down his throat.

Gods, she was exquisite; she was _divine._

Ignis slipped his hand free from between her thighs, bringing a flood of wetness with it. He used slick fingers to stroke his cock, to be sure that he was hard enough — what a thought, that he might _not_ have been somehow, in the midst of all this — and lowered himself once more down between her hips.

‘Wait,’ she said, her hand gripping his backside. ‘Lemme be on top.’

He felt like a trembling schoolboy as he lifted off of her. He paused only long enough to rid himself of his t-shirt — and she to fumble with the last few buttons of her nightdress, tossing it aside — before he was on his back, laying himself out for her.

She moved to straddle his legs, looking thoughtfully down at him, and he allowed himself the treat of studying her in turn.

Her belly was still a little round from carrying their child for nine months; it was something that she was self-conscious about, but he never failed to reassure her that he found it beautiful. Her breasts sagged a little with the weight of the milk, which even now trickled down her perfect, peach skin. Her thighs — once muscular enough, he had speculated, to quite literally choke a man to death — were soft with the weight she had gained in pregnancy.

Here was a vision: finer than any classical painting, than any fertility icon. She had battled alongside him, had shown him hours upon hours of pleasure, had given life to their daughter; where she saw only stretch marks that would never fully fade and muscles that would never wholly bounce back, he saw the woman he loved.

He moves his hands to her waist, guiding her towards him. In turn, she kneeled astride his hips and lowered herself down until she was seated just above him. He could feel his erection pressed against her bottom, and when she leaned forward to kiss him it only jostled against him, prompting him to give a very undignified grunt of pleasure.

‘Remember when I thought I’d never be ready to do this again?’ she said.

‘Now it seems you can’t get enough,’ Ignis teased, looking mischievously up at her eyes. ‘Nor can I.’

She reached her hand down between them, gripping his cock. She had a devilish smile on her lips as she eased his erection upwards, over the wetness of her and then past, to where she brushed it against her clitoris. The movement set him twitching, shutting his eyes and letting his jaw hang slack.

‘I _could_ just tease you, you know,’ she murmured, her honey voice a half-hearted threat.

She guided his cock downward, then back up once more in the same torturous rhythm. Each brush of the head of him over her was so exquisite it almost hurt.

‘Please,’ he whispered, breathless.

When he managed to prise his eyes open again, he looked at her imploringly. He had shed his glasses before bed; he didn’t need them to see the minute details of the green of her own eyes, the way the light caught the very tips of her lashes as she glanced him over, smirking.

‘Please _what,_ Ignis?’ she said. ‘What do you want?’

Another stroke, another stroke of his cock against her clitoris; he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, the teasing pleasure too much. This time he heard her soft intake of breath, as though she were finding it difficult to control herself, too.

‘I…’ he said, the words catching right in his throat as another stroke had him gasping. ‘I want _you_ , Aranea.’

He thought she might just tease him a while long for the sheer hell of it, but then he felt her angle his cock straighter and slide down over it until she was flush with him.

He opened his eyes, looking up at her; her lips were apart, her breath heaving. How was it that even now, after years, fitting together like this could still feel so good?

She braced herself against his shoulders, using them for leverage to lift herself up and grind back down on him, slowly. He could do little more than look up at her, captivated; if he let his glance wander down to her bosom where it bounced with the movement, he swore it was wholly unintentional.

Ignis slipped his hands up from Aranea’s hips, cupping her breasts. He squeezed and stroked them, and it took only the slightest effort to set milk streaming freely from them. He felt it roll down over his hands, down his arms; felt it splash, warm, on his abdomen below. When he fondled her nipples, rolling them between his fingertips, he did it just firmly enough that he could watch her pleasure reflected on her face and in the furrowing of her brow.

He held her gaze in his own and lifted her breast to his mouth, his tongue making a very deliberate circle around the deep pink of the areola. As if she didn’t take kindly to being teased, she licked her lips and lifted up once more, before thrusting purposefully down again.

 _‘Ah!’_ he gasped.

He couldn’t control himself much longer; he wanted everything she had to give. He closed his mouth over her breast, suckling as he squeezed with his hand.

 _'_ Ignis,’ she murmured, her nails biting into his shoulders. ‘Oh, Ignis…’

His teeth found her nipple and grazed over it, gently at first; then he caught it between his teeth and tugged, taking her nonverbal cues as signals. When she tipped her head back, groaning out low, he tugged harder, squeezing with a little more force, and he felt the letdown come again.

He opened his mouth wide to catch it, letting it cover his tongue and spill down over his chin, down his neck.

It was with a mouthful of that sweet, creamy stuff that he came, overcome with the force and urgency of his climax; when he gave a choked groan of need she only rode him harder as she took him through it.

He tipped his head against her shoulder once he was through, panting into the soft skin of her breast. There was such a mess between them now, sweet milk pooling in his navel and in their laps, and she only added to the problem as she sat up from him, letting him slip free, and he felt the combined efforts of their lovemaking ooze down his inner thigh.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, looking apologetically up at her. ‘I couldn’t help myself, my love.’

She snorted and shook her head; with eyes burning into his, she climbed off of him and moved to her side of the bed, pulling him on top of her.

‘You kidding me?’ she said, guiding his hand down between her legs. She was so impossibly _wet._ ‘I love to watch you go.’

He flicked his finger over her clitoris first, then glided it in steady, more measured circles over her. As he watched her relax back into the pillow he leaned down to clean up the milk where it beaded on her.

It was slow progress, making sure he got every last drop, and even though he was certain his cock would take a while to recover he could feel it throb with arousal at the taste. There was milk on her belly, milk on her hip, milk down her thighs; when he got down that low, he followed the trail downwards between her legs and dipped his tongue into the wetness there.

She was sweet and savoury, the taste of her own wetness and of Ignis’s semen. Another kink, perhaps, but he liked the taste of _that,_ too; whenever she went down on him, she’d always keep the taste on her lips and on her tongue to share with him, and that little thrum of pleasure he got from it was almost as good as the climax itself.

He slipped his tongue inside her, first, lapping hungrily; moved up then to her clitoris and roved expertly over it in rhythmic circles, at a quicker pace. He could feel her tensing where he braced himself against her thighs, and when he switched up his rhythm a bit he was rewarded with a low moan from her.

He glanced up, just in time to see her arching her back. She wouldn’t be very long after him, it seemed.

Her hand wander down; knotted through his hair. She was the only one allowed to make a mess of it, and she seemed more than happy to do so now, tugging on the strands to urge him along.

‘Yes, Ignis,’ she was moaning, her thighs all but quivering where he kneaded his fingers into them. ‘Please, don’t stop…’

Gods, but he thought he might already be getting hard again. True enough he’d never make it another round — much as he would have loved to — but it was still pleasurable to slip a hand down and take himself into his grasp, stroking his cock to semi-hardness. The sound was almost obscene, skin on wet, slick skin, but that only seemed to add to the allure.

His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat as he moved his tongue over her, moaning.

It was when she turned her glance down towards him that he knew he had her; she could see him touching himself, and he knew that if there was anything that got her going it was the knowledge of how much she turned him on. He didn’t make a show of it, but neither did he have to as a fresh throb of pleasure went through him and he groaned into the wetness between her thighs, no longer able to control himself.

She was pulling feverishly at his hair now, and as he glanced up at her he saw her move her free hand to her breast, teasing and tugging as milk beaded under her touch.

He was hard again when she came, arching back and thrusting her hips to meet his tongue. A high-pitched, breathless moan sounded from her lips and it was the sweetest sound on Eos; he didn’t stop laving his tongue over her until that sound cut off and she collapsed back on the bed, a trembling mess.

They would have to clean up, eventually, but that was for later. For now, he moved back up the bed, resting alongside her body, and moved to initiate a sweet kiss.

Well — it _should have_ been sweet, but his mouth and lips were still slick, and Aranea was teasing as she skirted her tongue out to meet his, savouring the taste from him. Even this sent waves of arousal through him, making his cock pulse eagerly, but he put the thought out of his head.

‘You really are extraordinary,’ he said, as he settled his head down on the pillow beside her. ‘I wake up every day wondering how I got so lucky.’

She glanced at him, sleepily, her eyelids almost too heavy for her to keep open.

‘Yeah?’ she murmured. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

**Author's Note:**

> It feels strange to be linking my social media on kinkfic, but here we go — in the event that you're not following already and found me through this :3 [main tumblr](http://theorchardofbones.tumblr.com) | [ffxv sideblog](http://harshmallowffxv.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/ghostmallovv)


End file.
